


Polishing the Mirror of the Heart

by EmmyStarlight



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Drowning, F/F, Flashbacks, Past Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyStarlight/pseuds/EmmyStarlight
Summary: Catra tries to regain some control over her sense of self in the aftermath of being rescued from Horde Prime. (Spoilers for Season 5)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 111





	Polishing the Mirror of the Heart

Catra stared into the mirror.

Horde Prime had sheared off most of her mane, having decided, apparently, that it was too much for his perfect, ordered universe. And this was the result. Catra turned her head first to one side, then the other. Ran a hand through the fluff of her hair. All she could summon was the memory of shears and scissors. At the time, she had been quite… willing. Trapped in her own head and immersed in the ‘glory’ of Horde Prime. She hadn’t minded-- for a time she had even welcomed it. 

Just remembering that made her feel sick to her stomach. 

_That isn’t me_ . She reached out, pressed her hand to the mirror, as if she might touch the Catra she saw. It didn’t look like her, though. Didn’t _feel_ like it was really her. A hand clenched, formed a fist and she jerked it back, about to slam it into the mirror-- and stopped, trembling. She had to be better than that. If she injured herself lashing out _now_ , what good would she be against Horde Prime? Even if doing it in the moment let her feel in control. 

Control. That’s what the hair had been about. Horde Prime’s desire to control every other living thing in the universe, to bring it into his neatly ordered hierarchy where everyone’s place was set and everyone’s life was decided when they were born. He decided how they lived, how they worked, how they died. Every living creature in the universe-- a perfect cog in his perfect machine until he grew bored with it. She locked eyes with herself. 

No. 

No, she wouldn’t _let_ herself be that. Ever. She wouldn’t let herself be _his_ again. She would rather die first-- go down fighting. She wouldn’t undergo that again.

A flash of memory, the pain of electric current running through her body as her head was forced under the green liquid of the pool. The clones were chanting, droning in unison and Horde Prime watched, smiling. Adora! Where was Adora? 

_Adora please, please come just this once. Please, you have to save me this time, one more time, Adora please--_

Catra was screaming but the only thing that came from her mouth were bubbles, flowing up towards distant light. She tried to breathe and instead her lungs filled with liquid, her breath choking off, dying away as her head pounded and darkness nibbled at her vision--

Catra forced her eyes open, returning herself firmly to the present. She looked down at her hand, almost white-knuckled and her claws digging into the surface of the washroom’s countertop. She could see the marks there, etched the same as the ones she had dragged across Adora’s back, wanting to stop but compelled to go on by the presence of Prime in her mind. 

_Horde Prime is all-seeing. Horde Prime is all-knowing. Horde Prime is all-powerful. Horde Prime is all-seeing. Horde Prime is all-knowing. Horde Prime is all-powerful. Horde Prime is all-seeing. Horde Prime is all-knowing. Horde Prime is all-power--_

“Get _out_ !” She could still hear him echoing in her head, his laughter, the way his presence had pressed down on her like some heavy miasmic fog. Smothering her thoughts and her feelings and everything that made Catra _Catra_ until she had been nothing but his tool, nothing but another obedient little drone. The thing that had scared her the most was that until Adora had broken her free in their initial fight, she had welcomed it because Horde Prime took away her pain, he took away all her worry and fear and doubt. He took away her _ability_ to doubt and think and act unless he commanded it. 

He had run her memories through her head (his head) over and over, examining each painful moment of her childhood. Every humiliation and punishment from Shadow Weaver had been studied, catalogued, and admired as if they were some odd sort of exhibit. He had delved into the good memories, too. The times she laughed with Adora, had whispered with her in the dark of the barracks, the pranks and the games and--

\--and the love. 

The love that had been her most precious inner thought; even when she had hated Adora, she had loved her. And he took that and spread it open like the pages of a book, as if it was something for him to peruse. As if it was something he was permitted to see in the recesses of her mind. She remembered every moment of it, the painful scrutiny of his attention on her mind and the amused disdain he had had for her feelings, the way he had been even more amused by the hope that Adora would come and save her, protect her again as she had when they were children. 

He had taken her and made her more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life. She hated it. She hated _him_. She couldn’t let Horde Prime win, couldn’t let him keep owning a piece of her. The hair trimmer next to the sink came up and she paused, hand trembling a little. 

“I don’t belong to you,” Catra whispered and then she began to cut. She had to be careful, slicing away small tufts of hair with her claws when she had to, using the trimming tool to remove larger patches. Each pass of claws and trimmer snipped off a little more. Soon, she had removed the long bangs that could be slicked back and the forced neatness, chopped off some at the back that had felt too _wrong_. Instead, Catra’s hair was shaggy. A little fluffy. A little uneven. In other words: Catra. She smiled a little, saw her reflection match it and then had to smile even wider until she burst into anxious, overexcited laughter. 

It was still her in the mirror. She still owned herself. She still owned her _love_. No matter what happened, he couldn’t take that from her even if he could laugh at it and mock her for even thinking it. Even if Horde Prime saw it as a weakness and a foolish indulgence that only weighed her down, Catra felt sure she would carry that flame within herself for the rest of her life. 

If she looked inside of herself, inside of her heart, at the flickering flame of her love, she could see the reflection of the person she wanted to be. Eventually, she could hope that would be the person in the mirror too. 

For now though, this shaggy imperfect haircut would have to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Catradora Club discord for pointing out that after escaping from Horde Prime, Catra cuts her hair even shorter and thereby inspiring this fic. Also thanks to my editors/beta readers who looked over this and helped me tweak it.


End file.
